


Beneath the Surface

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: Denmark Street musings [38]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: A sprinkle of fluff, F/M, Holiday, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pool Sex, Smut, Water Sex, Wet!Strike, as requested, it’s not, it’s pure smut, the title makes it sound whimsical or piney, with a dash of not-being-quiet Strike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26613373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: Summary: Um... it’s sex in a pool. For no reason other than I had a request for Wet!Strike 😍🔥😂
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Series: Denmark Street musings [38]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1035698
Comments: 13
Kudos: 84





	Beneath the Surface

“Robin...”

Robin came to slowly, gradually becoming aware of her name being murmured in her ear in her big partner’s low voice, his mouth on her neck, his arm scooping her close. She opened her eyes and blinked at the ceiling in the almost-darkness. The air felt fresh for the first time in days, the humidity easing.

“What time is it?” she whispered and drew a shaky breath as he ran his lips down the column of her throat.

“About two,” he murmured against her clavicle, beginning to make his way across to her shoulder.

“Two in the morning?” Robin asked, rolling towards him and pressing her body along the length of his. Her eyebrows rose as she felt his erection jutting against her stomach. Desire curled in her groin.

“Mm-hm.” His hand moved to cup her breast through the thin strappy top she was wearing. “Wanna go skinny dipping?”

Robin grinned up at the ceiling.

They were staying in a villa tucked away in a little village on Menorca for a week with the Herberts. Ilsa had found a good deal online, and after a long, wet winter of tailing suspects, the detectives had thrown caution to the wind and taken a week off together to go and soak up some much-needed sun, leaving the business in the capable hands of Barclay and Pat who, whilst they didn’t always see eye to eye, had developed a grudging respect for one another.

It had taken a couple of days for Strike and Robin to wind down and get out of work mode, but on the third day Pat had refused to answer any questions and threatened to block both their mobile numbers if they rang the office again, so they had agreed to try harder to relax. They’d strolled to a local bar in the evenings with the Herberts, cooked huge plates of paella and relaxed around the pool with beers and cocktails. It had been perfect.

Earlier that day Strike had sidled up to Robin in the little pool under the trees in the villa’s back garden while Nick and Ilsa were upstairs supposedly taking a siesta in their room that overlooked the road at the front of the property. Robin had chosen to escape the heat by getting into the water, and was floating lazily on her stomach, her arms resting on the poolside while she read a magazine, her feet kicking idly to keep her body afloat. Strike had slid a hand up her back, across the expanse of skin her cutaway swimsuit revealed, making her shiver. Away from the pressures and exhaustion of work, they’d had sex every night and some afternoons. Sometimes Robin wondered if they would ever tire of one another.

He had kissed her and pulled her close, all sliding hands and hot lips, and she had run her hands across his wet chest, revelling in seeing him so relaxed and unselfconscious, clad only in swim shorts. She’d giggled as she felt him becoming aroused against her and told him to save it until bedtime, and he’d whispered in her ear how much he wanted to make love to her in the water, making her blush. He had then murmured exactly what he wanted to do until her cheeks were scarlet and she was writhing with desire in his arms. Then he’d kissed her briefly and fiercely and turned and swum away, grinning at her from the other end of the pool as she gave him a look that could have scorched the hair off his chest, wet though it was.

“What about Ilsa and Nick?” she murmured now.

“Their room looks the other way,” Strike replied, grinning at her, watching her to gauge if she was keen. “And no other villa overlooks the pool, I checked.”

“They could come down,” Robin said.

“They could,” he conceded. “Are you telling me you don’t think they’ve done it?”

Robin’s eyes widened. “Do you think they have?”

Strike shrugged. “I wouldn’t ask,” he said. “And therefore nor will they.”

Robin giggled and rolled out of bed, reaching for her swimsuit, but Strike seized her wrist gently.

“You won’t be needing that,” he murmured, his eyes dark, and Robin grinned impishly at him and hooked her towel down from its peg on the back of the door.

They crept down the stairs, Robin carrying her towel and Strike wearing his slung across his hips. Robin giggled a little to hear the soft thuds of Strike’s prosthetic foot. He grinned at her as they crossed the living room to the sliding doors out into the garden.

“Not designed for tiptoeing,” he muttered.

“No,” she agreed.

The garden was all shadow and cool air, the moonlight glinting off the calm surface of the water. Robin glanced back up at the little villa. Only their room looked out this way, the little balcony having a clear view over the pool, and she found herself wondering if the Herberts had crept out for a clandestine swim in the dark one night too. They must have been very quiet if they had, although she supposed that she and Strike wouldn’t have noticed anything unless they’d actually looked; they’d been sleeping with the balcony doors closed and the air conditioning on.

Pushing thoughts of their friends from her mind, Robin tossed her towel down on a lounger where she could reach it from the water, and sat herself on the side of the pool. She wriggled out of her pyjama shorts and set them aside too, and slid into the water, pulling her top up as she went. She slipped it off and added it to the little pile she’d made, and turned to face Strike.

He’d sat himself at the side of the pool too and removed his prosthesis; only the towel now protected his modesty as he’d refused to entertain the idea of even boxers to sleep in in the Mediterranean heat. He’d paused in the action of setting his leg aside to gaze at her, his eyes glittering in the darkness. Robin stood chest deep in the pool at its deepest part, the swell of her breasts just visible above the water line. She’d been well aware of his hungry gaze on her whenever she’d been in the pool, admiring her from behind his sunglasses while he lay on a lounger and pretended to read the paperback thriller he’d bought at the airport. She’d floated lazily, knowing he was watching, liking it.

Desire stirred deep within her now as she saw the way he was looking at her, his eyes roaming from her soft lips to her freckled shoulders, flickering down to where her body disappeared under the water. He unwrapped the towel, and Robin drew a small breath in at the sight of his very obvious arousal that he made no attempt to hide. She gazed at it and then raised her eyes back to his, and slowly, deliberately licked her lips. With a growl, Strike tossed his towel aside and slid into the water.

Robin giggled as he ducked under completely as he swam across to her, two powerful strokes covering the distance between them in the tiny pool. He surfaced right in front of her, shaking his head to deliberately cover her in cool droplets shed from his dense curly hair, and she squealed a little.

“Sh,” he whispered, grinning, his hands sliding around her waist, and kissed her.

Robin hummed into his mouth as his tongue came forward to explore, and slid her arms around his wet shoulders. His skin was warm, and smooth and slick under her hands as she stroked across him. His tongue plundered her mouth confidently, sweeping across hers and sending pleasure arcing through her. Beneath the surface of the water, his big hands circled her waist and pulled her against him, and he growled a little as he kissed her and pulled her against his body, pressing his erection against her stomach.

Eventually Strike drew back from the kiss and slid his hands up her back and across her shoulders.

“Get your hair wet,” he murmured, stroking the red-gold tresses that glinted on her shoulders in the moonlight. “I want to feel it.”

Robin smiled softly, and tilted her head back, dipping her hair into the water. Bending over her, Strike curled an arm around her waist, supporting her while he bent his head to her throat, kissing her exposed skin. His other hand slid through her hair in the water, carding through tresses that felt like like spun silk as they floated around her.

With a low moan as his teeth grazed across her, Robin arched her back, pressing her breasts up against Strike’s chest. He leaned further over her, pressing his body to hers, and they overbalanced. With a squeak, Robin disappeared under the water with her big partner on top of her, and felt him roll to one side so as not to hold her under. They floundered for a moment and came up drenched and laughing, water streaming from them both.

Blinking water from spiked eyelashes, Robin grinned up at Strike who was gazing at her with a look of worship.

“Christ,” he murmured, his arm sliding around her again, the fingers of his other hand tracing across her cheekbones, stroking into her hair. “You look like some kind of goddess, or mermaid.”

Robin smiled softly. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” she replied. His hair, briefly plastered to his head as he surfaced, was already springing up again, the curls refusing to be tamed by water. Rivulets ran down his chest, pulling the hair there straight, and she slid a hand across him, exploring. His eyelashes, too, were spiked wet, and she wanted to lick every droplet of water from his shoulders. She leaned forward and dipped her tongue into the hollow at the base of his throat, and he growled in answer.

Abruptly the tempo changed. Strike cupped her face and tilted it to his and kissed her, sliding his tongue to meet hers, and they kissed fiercely, passion rising. Beneath the water, Robin pressed closer, her soft curves against his hard bulk, and rubbed herself, gently but deliberately, against his cock, making him moan into her mouth.

Strike slid a hand down from Robin’s face, trailing his fingers down her neck as he kissed her, and eased himself away from her a little to slip a hand into the water and cup her breast. Robin gasped a little against him as his fingertips ghosted across her nipple below the water line, fierce pleasure fizzing from her sensitive skin to her groin. Desire clenched deep within her and she groaned as he toyed with her, fingers sliding on wet skin, teasing her nipple with feather-light touches until it was hard beneath his fingers, his other hand in her hair, cupping her head to his as he kissed her.

She drew back from the kiss, panting with pleasure as he stroked her, and Strike’s eyes were black in the moonlight as he watched her need build.

Behind him, a light snapped on on the kitchen of the villa, and Robin gasped and drew away. “Cormoran—”

She shrank back under the Mediterranean willow that overhung the end of the pool, whose leaves had to be patiently skimmed from the water twice a day. Slowly, trying not to ripple the surface, Strike slid his body close to hers, his arm around her resting along the concrete edge of the pool for her to lean back against. They watched as, illuminated behind the slatted blind, Ilsa fiddled at the sink. They heard the clink of a glass, the tap briefly running.

“Can she see us?” Robin whispered, barely audible, as Ilsa gazed in their general direction as she drank her water.

“Nah,” Strike whispered back. “She’s in the light, behind a blind, and we’re under the tree.”

Robin nodded. She’d been down the first night for a glass of water, unable to sleep well in new surroundings even with Strike’s protection, and she remembered how dark and shadowed the garden had been. It had been cloudy that night, though.

“The moon’s pretty bright,” she whispered doubtfully.

“Then let’s not ripple the water,” Strike replied mischievously. Robin grinned up at him, and then whimpered a little as she saw the dark intent in his eyes. She knew what he was going to do before he did it, but still gasped as she felt his hand return to her breast. She held herself still while his fingers resumed their gentle teasing.

In the kitchen, Ilsa was still faffing, and with horror Robin realised she was filling the kettle now. _Who on earth makes tea in the middle of the night? Ilsa when she can’t sleep._ Robin remembered Ilsa had brought chamomile tea bags.

“Hey—” Strike murmured, and she looked back up to see him smiling down at her, somehow predatory and fond at the same time. “Eyes on me, please.”

Panting, Robin was aware of the movement of the water and tried to control her breathing as sparks of pleasure skittered through her. She let her head drop back against Strike’s arm behind her, her gaze holding his. “You’re mean,” she muttered, smiling. “Tease.” Her back arched a little as he toyed with her, an unfulfilled ache growing in her groin.

“Want me to stop?” The look on his face told her he knew full well she didn’t want him to stop. The pleasure clenching within her was intense, the ache deepening within her core.

“No,” she murmured. “I want...” She gasped a little. “Cormoran!”

“What do you want?” he whispered, his eyes dark as he leaned closer. “This?” He pinched her nipple gently, and Robin let out a soft cry, her body jerking.

“No—”

“This?” He cupped her whole breast, his thumb circling her nipple, and delicious though it was, she wanted, she _needed_ —

“No...”

He grinned, his look predatory. “This?” And his hand slid down across her stomach. Behind him, Ilsa reached a mug from the kitchen cupboard. Robin dragged her eyes back to Strike’s.

“Yes,” she whispered desperately. “I want—”

“What do you want?” His fingers toyed with her curls below the water, sliding slick, teasing, and he watched her trying not to thrust her hips against his hand.

“Cormoran—!” Robin’s whisper was high and desperate, her need a physical thing.

“Yeah?” The tip of his middle finger ghosted across her clit, and Robin jerked again and moaned. Ripples swept out across the pool away from her, fracturing the moonlit glow across the surface of the water, and she shook with the effort of trying to hold herself still.

“Touch me,” she gasped, her eyes glittering up at him. “Properly.”

“Like this?” And his hand slid beneath her, cupping her, his middle finger easing into her, curling up inside.

The intermingled pleasure and relief were intense. Robin gasped again, sinking back against his arm, feeling his hand tighten around her shoulders, supporting her and stopping her sliding down into the water.

“Yes,” she groaned. “Like that. Only not...”

His finger slid, and Robin’s voice splintered into another groan.

“Not what?” Strike’s focus on her was intense, droplets still trickling down from his wet hair, his cock pressed hard against her hip. She could feel how much this was turning him on too, and her desire only increased further.

“Not too much,” she gasped as his finger crooked and thrust again. It was too much, the tension, his fierce gaze, the pleasure coaxed by his sliding finger. She was dimly aware of Ilsa, half concealed in the kitchen, pouring hot water into her mug.

“What’s too much?” His voice was low and gravelly. “This?” And he slid another finger into her.

Robin moaned, incoherent. The pleasure was rising fast as his fingers slid and she couldn’t stop it, her muscles fluttering around him. She knew Strike could feel exactly what he was doing to her, how close to the edge he was taking her.

“That,” she managed, her voice quivering as his fingers thrust again. “Too much—”

The kitchen light snapped off just as Robin dissolved, the tension spilling over into pulses of pure pleasure, her muscles clenching on his sliding fingers and her breath breaking into staccato gasps. His eyes fierce with lust, Strike eased her through it, his hand barely moving now but giving her just enough friction to prolong her orgasm, gently teasing more and more from her until she slumped against him and he drew away gently, sliding his arm around her waist to draw her against him.

Panting, Robin buried her face in his wet chest hair and he cradled her head close. His deep rumble of appreciation reverberated through her.

“God, you’re so sexy,” he murmured, and Robin sighed into his chest, coming down off her high. She could feel his rigid cock still pressed to her hip and couldn’t resist rocking against it a little, making him groan.

She eased herself away from him, grinning up at him. “Come here,” she murmured, pulling him round in front of her, between her legs.

“Don’t you need—?”

“I’m fine. I want to keep going.” Robin smiled softly at him. She rested her weight back into one elbow on the ledge behind her and hooked her legs around his thighs, floating against him. “Unless you’re not ready?” She winked, feeling his engorged cock against her, knowing he’d been ready before he’d even woken her up.

“Oh, I’m ready,” he growled, and then groaned deeply as she reached down through the water between them and stroked her fingertips along his hard length. “Very ready.”

“Mm,” Robin murmured, impish now. “But you teased me a bit, so—” She ghosted her fingers across the head of his cock, and he jerked against her and swore.

“ _Fuck_ , Robin—”

“Come here.” Her heels on his backside, Robin pulled him closer. She canted her hips to him, meeting his straining cock, and with a long, low groan, Strike pressed forward and into her, sliding all the way in until they were pressed together.

“Fuck, Robin, that’s so good,” Strike groaned into her ear, one arm wrapped around her shoulders and the other hand braced against the ledge behind her.

“Mm.” Robin hummed her agreement and rocked a little against him, trying to encourage him to move. He withdrew a little and thrust again, trembling, and Robin slid one arm around his back, stroking across slick skin, sliding down below the water to find his waist as he picked up a slow rhythm, the water lapping between them.

Pleasure suffused them both as they moved together, Strike undulating his hips gently beneath the water to thrust slowly into her and Robin canting herself back and forth to increase the friction on his cock, drawing steadily louder moans from him until, grinning, she kissed him hard, swallowing his voice.

“Sh,” she murmured against his lips, and he shuddered against her.

“Can’t help it,” he rasped. “You feel so fucking amazing.”

Robin ran her fingers fondly through his curls, dislodging yet more water, kissing the rivulets that ran down his face. “Well, try,” she murmured, “because if they hear us and come out, you’ll have to stop.”

Strike grunted fiercely into her ear, jerking against her. “Fuck ’em. The only person I’d stop for right now is you.”

Robin grinned, but fierce pride ran through her. There was something about this huge man, so controlled and careful in so many areas of his life, wanting her so much. He thrust again and pleasure swept through her. “ _God_ , Cormoran—”

His only answer was another moan, another thrust. The slide of him inside her was delicious, and Robin tilted her head back, revelling in the feeling of Strike’s mouth on her neck as he chased his release, the way the water lapped around them as he moved, the way his arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her close.

The water prevented him from moving too fast, but Robin could feel the pleasure begin to take him, knew him well enough now to know when he was nearing the edge. His movements grew jerkier, his groans deeper. She squeezed her muscles around him and he moaned against her skin, and Robin grinned up at the night sky.

She slid her hand up from his waist across his back, sliding into his curly hair. She leaned her face forward into his neck, her mouth finding his ear, and suddenly he was trembling and panting against her as he thrust. He was nearing his climax, and pleasure she hadn’t expected shocked Robin, arcing through her. She’d thought this was only about him since she’d— but suddenly—

The enforced slow pace, the surge and lap of the water around them, combined to hold Strike on the precipice for several delicious strokes; rocking, panting, he was aware of nothing except the feel of Robin, the pure pleasure, the taut anticipation waiting to snap, the swell of his impending release.

Abruptly Robin’s back arched as a second orgasm overtook her, a shocked whimper escaping her, and Strike shuddered and swore as the dam broke. With a low moan he pulsed into her, the slow pace allowing Robin to feel every throb of him, pushing her pleasure on. His voice buried in her neck splintered and he thrust against her jerkily until at last, panting, he came to a halt.

Robin clung to him, awestruck, pleasure echoing through her, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding him close. Half braced and half collapsed against her, Strike breathed hard against her neck, kissing her skin. He was still trembling a little, and Robin held him close. He buried his face in her neck, and Robin let him rest against her for a minute, idly watching the hanging leaves fluttering in the hint of a breeze.

Eventually she stirred. “Cormoran,” she murmured, and at his answering rumble, “that was—”

He drew back a little, and Robin unwrapped her legs from around him and let her feet float to the floor. Strike grinned at her, his eyes still glazed with pleasure. “It was, wasn’t it?”

Robin nodded, smiling. “I don’t know if I can walk.”

Strike chuckled softly. “Well, if you need carrying, you’re going to have to give me a few minutes.”

He kissed her, slow and sweet, his lips moving lazily against hers. She could feel the satiation rolling through him, mirroring her own.

“We should go back to bed,” she murmured against his mouth.

“Mm,” he agreed. “I could sleep for a week now.”

Robin giggled, a throaty sound. “In a minute,” she murmured, and nuzzled in to his chest. Strike sighed deeply, content, and rested his head gently on top of hers.

It took them a few minutes to regain their equilibrium, and then Strike eased back from her.

“Come on, Ellacott,” he mumbled sleepily. “Not a good idea to fall asleep in a swimming pool.”

She smiled softly. “No.”

They pulled themselves out to sit on the edge; Robin fetched Strike’s towel and prosthesis. Wrapped in her own towel, she helped him stand, glad he no longer cared about needing her help occasionally. Slowly they made their way back into the villa, locked the sliding doors, went back up to their room.

They crept in and closed the door, and Robin giggled softly. “We left the door open. Ilsa must have seen we were gone,” she whispered.

Strike grinned, towelling himself off roughly, his hair even wilder than usual. “I’m sure she worked out where we were.”

Blushing, Robin laid her towel on her pillow to soak up the moisture from her hair. She’d deal with it in the morning. “Will she tell Nick?”

“Probably,” Strike replied cheerfully, climbing into bed and unbuckling his leg again. “But they won’t say anything.”

Robin nodded and shook out her shorts and top.

“You don’t need those,” Strike growled, reaching for her.

Giggling, Robin cast them aside and climbed into the bed with him. “You can’t be ready to go again so soon after that.”

He grinned shamelessly. “I just want to feel all of you,” he replied, tugging the sheet up over them both and pulling her into a hug. “And you never know.”

“True,” Robin replied, cuddling up close and laying her head on his chest.

Within a minute, Strike began snoring, and Robin chuckled and curled in to him, wrapping an arm and a leg over him, content.


End file.
